


Winter Worries

by centuries



Category: Anne Perry - Thomas and Charlotte Pitt series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centuries/pseuds/centuries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte thinks through a recently committed crime, trying to find the link between murders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Worries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celandine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/gifts).



Anne Perry - Thomas and Charlotte Pitt series - Charlotte Pitt  
Winter Worries

Charlotte closed the book and set it over on the table near to the fire, taking in the scent of a mid-winter evening, alone. It was quite dark and cold, a dreary day amplified by the absence of Thomas. She could slip through the streets of London on her business, the layer of winter influencing her day and mood. It was quite a day for a murder.

Snow drifts had piled up in corners of the city, taking in their fair share of soot and dirt, industrial London alight with splashed of white, contrasted with the daily muddle. There was something far more sinister than just snow sprawling the streets, though. The first body had been discovered five days prior, not long after the first real frost had coated the Tuesday morning. Charlotte had traipsed across town without the knowledge of the event until Thomas had arrived, home late for dinner, his demeanor uncharacteristically dour. The first body had not been too out of place, and in a way, that was what marked it as interesting, almost mundane in its presence on the streets. It had been laid against a park bench, obviously murdered ruthlessly in another place and moved, with no blood—as if he were sleeping.

What bothered Charlotte most was that someone could have done this, in the quite of the very late night, hours before dawn, on these choppy, short winter days, and transport the body in plain site to a bench. One that she had even passed by before, in more pleasant, less windswept, times. Much too close to comfort.

The next had been found a day later, much later in the day, as warmth seeped into the city and some of the snow had begun to melt away, leaving a rock and snow pile that had been constructed the night before to unveil its contents. Another soul, tragically struck down in the prime of his life, his throat slit; and yet again, no blood.

Charlotte had retreated to the chair and her books, returning in fleeting moments to these crimes, though if she though more about them, they would wrench her completely from this contemplative respite. A day elapsed slowly, her time spent with furtive glances towards the door, monitoring for Thomas' return, hoping to hear that the killer had been nabbed, or at least that there was some sufficient explanation for it. She could stand it if she could only figure how the murder had done it, put a finger on it, keep in away from her own world. It was much too close if they could steal through the streets of London without any regard for life or happiness. This was meant to be a time with his family, and Thomas was wrapped up with the case, reconstructing the scenes and thinking through the placement, trying to deconstruct what it meant, if there were any telltale signs. Maybe the killer was communicating with them, leaving ways of identifying him through markings or other signs. There was no real connection between the two poor men who had been placed out on the streets, except for how blatant, how obvious they both ended up being, on major thoroughfares, in crowded areas. However had they ended up in this condition? Where had they been abducted, murdered, and who could have moved them? Could they have acted alone or would someone have had to help them, to move the body or to monitor for possible witnesses. And if there was a conspiracy, if multiple people were involved, could any lone witness be able to stop them?

Charlotte picked the book up again and thumbed mindlessly through it, her actual thoughts rushing over the details of the crime and the savagery with which the next body had been revealed. A mistress of a dignified but not conspicuous house had been out on a morning walk, had stumbled quite incidentally into the most irregular occurrence. Again, a sliced neck, this time, much more sloppy in its execution. Perhaps something had rattled the killer? If so, why had he again taken to the most obvious placement? Charlotte was much less familiar with this area of town, though she wondered if there was any connection between the placement of the bodies and where they had been taken from? This third unfortunate soul had been a notable proprietor of a bookshop not too far from where the second body had been uncovered. Perhaps there was a connection between the first and the second as well? Or maybe it was an error in the killer's plans, to have such a tie, and that it meant nothing, though if this were the case, maybe he frequented these areas? Though, of course, Charlotte could not constrict her reasoning to a sole actor. She could not imagine one person being able to pull or drag each body through the street, or maybe on a cart, which would also be conspicuous, regardless of the hour of the night.

She was still trying to connect the dots when there was a sharp creaking noise, drawing her out of her reveries and into the present. Thomas was standing, quiet in the kitchen, his back crooked and his rose up, drawing in a deep breath. She rushed over to him and desperately enquired as to what were the matter, though she did not have to breathe the words; she knew. It was another body. Probably even closer. Her cheeks were aflame and she could feel her heart racing, as she felt an incredible pang of disgust and rage. She moved towards the fire and sunk into the weathered chair, drawing in the heated air sharply. The world heaved as she listened quietly to Thomas' description of the scene, said disconcertedly solid, cold, as if was taking this personally, that he could not catch, could not prevent these deaths. Another deep wound on the neck, an absence of blood, a crumpled young man caught against the smoldering winter cold.

She shook violently against the chair, shivering with the thoughts of snow with the warm of her current situation, thinking through the scenes, the connections. Finally, it hit her, why each of the neighborhoods had sounded familiar, why she was so stuck on the second abduction, and what now this fourth had hit her hardest, with the proximity. All of them were along the Central Line, being constructed underneath the city. The killer presumably had access to the construction sites, using them to get from each site in the night with the bodies. That had to be it! Charlotte frenetically grabbed a pen from Thomas' desk and scribbled out a map on the inset of her book, the nearest paper she had and then tore through the pile of papers on the table to find the most recent newspapers. She sighed as she compared her drawings with the headlines, before pushing them to Thomas and reclining back in the fire-side chair.


End file.
